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I long for typical days, but rarely get them any more.

Nora Roberts

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Nora Roberts
Age: 74
Born: 1950
Born: October 10
Author
Businessperson
Legal Secretary
Novelist
Philanthropist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Silver Spring
Maryland
Eleanor Marie Robertson
Jill March
Eleanor Marie Robertson Aufdem-Brinke Wilder
J. D. Robb
Sarah Hardesty
Eleanor Wilder
Typical
Rarely
Days
Literature
Long

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That was the biggest problem with getting used to someone, she thought. You were lonely when they weren't there.
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...If I don't have twenty or thirty books right here, waiting to be read, I start jonesing. That's my compulsion.
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She surrounded herself with books at work and at home. Her living space was a testament to her first and abiding love with shelves jammed with books tables crowded with them. She saw them not only as knowledge entertainment comfort even sanity but as a kind of artful decoration.
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Life has very little even ground.
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Today should always be outlawed in favor of tomorrow
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Love makes saints or sinners out of men.
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To fate and the strange way that it twists us all together.
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If you do not step forward you will always remain where you are.
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What time is it in New York? He shook his head. An hour later than it is here. The earth simply has to revolve, Eve, however annoying it is for you. It can revolve all it wants. I just don't see why people can't settle on the same time.
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I have to say you don't look anything like a policewoman. Maxia's perfect eyebrows arched as she gave Eve's dress a quick scan. Leonardo dresses you, doesn't he? No, I usually do it myself.
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You're the woman in my life,” he said. “Another thing about me and my brothers? We look after the women in our lives. We don't know any other way.
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She doesn’t like you, McNab. “I knoooow. I find that really attractive in a woman.
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The state calls Paul Winthrop to the stand. ... Paul answered the opening questions briefly, weighing his words, his eyes on Julia's. Would you tell the court the nature of your relationship with Miss Summers? I'm in love with Miss Summers. The faintest of smiles touched his lips. Completely in love with Miss Summers.
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Don't 'honey' me in that southern-fried twang.
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I got you a present. Did you? It's a book of poetry--romancy stuff. I thought, 'How schmaltzy is that,' so it seemed like the thing. Then I screwed up and left it in my desk at work
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- How is he in bed? Gladiator or poet? - Hmmm... A poetic gladiator.
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I don't think you can write - at least not well - if you don't love stories, love the written word.
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You--Roarke. Eyes watering, she reached for more tissue. Jesus, Eve. Jesus Christ, you never sleep with anybody. And you're telling me you slept with Roarke? That's not precisely accurate. We didn't sleep.
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Once you considered failure you were one step farther away from success.
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Eve engaged her On Duty sign and stepped out of the car. Immediately her ears were assaulted with a blast of music. Christmas carols pumped, full blast, into the air. She decided that people ran inside, ready to buy anything, just to escape the noise.
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